Eternal Halloween
by Smudgie
Summary: An innocent trip to Ireland 1880 has created a dark and sinister alternate reality for Doc and Marty...


'BOO!'

Marty let out a yell and staggered backwards, almost tripping over the doorstep; he managed to grab the doorframe with one hand and steady himself. He let out a shaky breath, relieved that he'd avoided a concussion from cracking his head on the cement. 'God, are you trying to kill me? What the hell are you supposed to be, anyway?'

Eyes marooned in two large circles of black makeup blinked up at him. 'I'm a ghoul! Duh. Mom made the costume. What d'ya think of it?'

The costume in question was a mess of black and white rags that hung off the young boy's frame. The matching makeup on his face completed the outfit. 'It's, uh, definitely interesting,' said Marty. 'You'll scare the living daylights out of the neighbours. D'you think I can I come in now?'

Verne stood back to let Marty enter. The hallway was festooned with black, orange and purple streamers, and a jack-o'-lantern sat grinning in the corner. 'God, I hate Halloween,' the teen muttered.

'Why? It's gonna be so much fun!' said Verne enthusiastically. 'Me an' Jules never did this before. Dad said you'd show us what to do.'

'OK, but there's not much to it.' Marty ducked under a sign proclaiming HAPPY HALLOWEEN! that hung across the kitchen door. A vampire was sitting at the table.

'Hi Jules, nice teeth.'

The boy frowned and pulled the plastic pointed teeth out of his mouth so he could speak. 'They're actually rather uncomfortable. And you're supposed to have a costume, Marty.'

'He says he hates Halloween,' Verne put in.

Marty shrugged. 'Yeah, I never really went in for that kind of thing. Besides, I think I'm allergic to that Halloween makeup or something.'

Jules continued to frown. 'Won't people refuse to give you something if you're not dressed up?'

'Well, you guys can just knock on the doors and I'll hang back.'

Verne tugged excitedly at his sleeve. 'What do you say again, Marty?'

'Trick-or-treat.'

'Then they give you sweets, right?'

'Right.'

'And if they don't give you anything?'

'Well, then you play a trick on them. _But_,' Marty folded his arms as Verne's eyes brightened, 'that is _not _gonna happen. Your parents are counting on me to make sure you two behave, so no funny stuff. OK?'

'OK, fine.' Verne looked disappointed. 'Though I thought that was the _point_.'

'Not when it merely serves to worsen this family's bad reputation in the town,' pointed out Jules, with as much authority as can be had when speaking through a mouthful of false teeth.

'Bad reputation? Whose would that be?' Doc was so tall that he was practically bent double as he ducked under the kitchen door banner. 'Hello, Marty. You're not dressed up.'

Marty groaned. 'C'mon, Doc! Gimme a break. You know I'm too old for that sort of thing now.'

Doc only smiled. 'If you like. Before you leave with the boys, would you mind coming out to the lab for a moment?'

'Can I come?' said Verne eagerly.

'No, no,' said Doc hastily. 'Your mother wants you to help her out with something – isn't that right, Clara?' he called, poking his head through the door into the hall.

A faint, indistinct reply came from somewhere within the house.

'You see?' said Doc to Verne. Before his son had the chance to protest, the scientist widened his eyes meaningfully at Marty before making his way to the back door.

Marty grimaced. 'I'll be right back, kids,' he promised, and followed Doc.

His friend had already crossed the dark lawn and was fiddling with the lock on the door to his lab. 'What's the deal, Doc?' called Marty, jogging across the lawn to him as Doc disappeared into the lab. He entered just as Doc flicked on the lights; harsh light illuminated a large room with cluttered workbenches around the walls. However, Marty's eyes went to the large, canvas-covered shape right in the centre of the lab. 'I know this has something to do with time-travel.'

'How'd you guess?'

'Well, you wouldn't let Verne come out to the lab with us…'

Doc laughed. 'Yes, he would have insisted on coming along…and there _are _only two seats in the DeLorean…'

'Coming along? Where?' Marty was instantly suspicious. 'Look, we're not going anywhere right now, are we? It's Halloween, Doc, and your kids are counting on me to take them trick-or-treating, and then I'm meeting Jennifer – '

'We'll be back before anyone knows it, Marty,' said Doc confidently. 'It's just that I've finished my newest modification to the DeLorean, and I thought maybe you would like to come along to test it out.'

He looked so excited that Marty couldn't say no – anyway, when had he ever said no to the Doc? Besides, though he might pretend to be reluctant, he found the experience of time-travel exhilarating.

'OK,' he said, unable to hide a grin. 'What is it this time, then?'

Doc whipped the canvas cover off the object in the middle of the room to reveal the new DeLorean time machine that he had completed only a month ago. He opened the gullwing door and sat down on the edge of the seat with his legs hanging out.

'Care to take a look at the location circuits?' he said, his eyes glowing with pride.

Marty bent down to stick his head into the car. A new panel had been added into the car, just under the time circuit panel.

'What is it?' he said.

'If you want to go anywhere in the world – anywhere at all – you just programme the location destination into these circuits, and the DeLorean will take you there.' Doc was beaming.

'_Whoa!' _Marty was seriously impressed. 'Jesus, this is heavy, Doc.'

'Of course, the location circuits work in correspondence with the time circuits,' Doc explained. 'So you can go to any destination, at any time.'

'Whoa,' Marty said again. He straightened up and ran a hand through his hair, unsure what to say. 'Well, you'll save a fortune in airline tickets, that's for sure.'

'If this works,' Doc warned him. 'Which is why I thought you might like to take it for a test drive with me – and make history for the second time!'

Marty hesitated a moment longer; then he grinned and walked around to the passenger door. 'So long as it's not a repeat of what happened the last time I made history…'

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They drove the DeLorean to about half-mile away until they were in the countryside – so they _would _be missing for a short while, but Doc had assured Clara that they would be back very shortly, and instructed her to keep the boys occupied until then. As it was dark, he would have usually hit 88 miles per hour in his own street, but there were many trick-or-treaters out and he wasn't taking any chances.

When they were out in the countryside, he turned the flying circuits on, which he had installed on his first trip in the new DeLorean. The car rose jerkily into the air.

'You can choose the destination, Marty,' Doc said. 'Where would you most like to go in the world?'

Marty raised his eyebrows. 'Jeez, I don't know,' he said. 'Um…Ireland?'

'Ireland,' said Doc. 'Anywhere specific?'

'Ballybowhill,' Marty said instantly. That was where his ancestors, Seamus and Maggie McFly, were from – but he wasn't about to tell Doc that, seeing as he was so uptight about not interacting with ancestors. Marty couldn't see what harm it could do, though; he had just always wanted to take a look at the town where they were from.

Doc gave him an odd look, but didn't comment. 'Ballybowhill, Ireland,' he said, programming it into the location circuits. 'And to make sure the location circuits are corresponding with the time circuits, we'll say this date on October 31st …1800 at…five o'clock pm.' He tightened his seatbelt. 'Let's go!'

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The last blue flickers of light faded from the windscreen to be replaced by an empty blackness.

Marty craned his neck, trying to squint down at the ground. 'There's a whole lot of trees,' he said. 'Loads of them…wait, there's a cluster of houses over there. That must be the town. I can't see anywhere to land, though.'

'We certainly don't want to land!' said Doc sharply. 'We can't risk being seen by the natives. We've confirmed that the location destination works, and should get back as quickly as possible.'

'Wait, Doc!' said Marty quickly. 'I mean, are you _sure _it works? That might not even be Ireland down there, for all I know it's…uh…I dunno, Russia?'

Doc rolled his eyes. 'Your geographical knowledge is as limited as your capacity to think fourth-dimensionally – but I suppose you may be right. We _could_ very well have ended up somewhere other than Ireland.'

'Right. So…are we going to check it out?'

Doc grimaced, obviously reluctant. 'I don't think it's a good idea…'

Marty sighed. 'Doc! We came this far, we gotta at least take a look around. I mean, why'd you ask me where I'd most like to go?'

Doc sighed. 'Fine, but we're staying for _one minute _and no more. I don't see how we'll be able to determine this is Ireland anyway, short of asking the locals, which is absolutely out of the question. I suppose we'll have to confirm whether the location destination is accurate when we go somewhere where we won't arouse suspicion by simply our clothes…'

He guided the DeLorean down to the largest gap he could spot among the trees. He winced as several branches scraped with a sound akin to fingernails on a blackboard along the car as it slowly lowered towards the ground.

'Relax, Doc, it's stainless steel,' Marty said.

'It's not that – I worry about what it might do to Mr Fusion – ' said Doc, but Marty didn't hear the rest of his words; he had pushed up the gullwing door and had jumped to the ground before the DeLorean had even landed.

He fell to his knees briefly and scrambled to his feet just as the DeLorean touched ground behind him with a soft whirring noise, sending up a flurry of leaves. Darkness was beginning to fall, dulling the colours of the brilliant golden and red leaves that adorned the trees. It was completely silent; the only sound was a whisper of leaves as a slight breath of wind stole through the trees.

'Never thought I'd see Ireland in 1800,' Marty called back to Doc.

'I just hope that none of the locals noticed our arrival,' came his friend's barely audible response.

Marty opened his mouth to answer, but just then a noise caught his attention. He blinked and turned around, frowning. It was almost like an animal rustling in the woods…only louder: more like a crashing through the undergrowth.

Then he heard the shouts and saw the flicker of torchlight through the trees. His heart jolted.

'Uh, Doc?' he called sharply, his voice rising in panic. 'I think we better get out of here – '

But before Doc could reply, people were bursting from among the trees into the clearing; they all halted at the edge of the trees, their shouts dying bit by bit until they were completely quiet, the flaming torches they were holding flickering and spitting and casting their orange glow over Marty.

At least fifty pairs of eyes stared at Marty; men, women and children all wore identical expressions of shock. Marty could only stare back at them, the blood pounding in his ears. _Oh God…oh shit…_

And then one cried out something that Marty didn't catch; the rest of the people took up the cry, shouting, wailing, falling to their knees before him…

Marty became aware that Doc was shouting at him; as if in a dream he turned away and staggered back to the DeLorean, collapsed into the seat and pulled the door shut. Trees blurred as the car rose unsteadily into the air, clipping several more branches. Marty closed his eyes and leant back in the seat.

'Dammit, Doc,' he said, his voice shaking. 'D'you think this is going to affect the future? Them seeing us and the DeLorean?'

'Well, we're about to find out,' said Doc; his own voice was steady, but his finger trembled slightly as he programmed their time and location destination into the circuits. Neither of them spoke anymore as the DeLorean sped across the sky and left Ireland and the year 1800 with a flash of blue light and three sonic booms.

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'TREE!' yelled Marty and was promptly thrown into the window as Doc swerved sharply. His skull connected with the glass with a sickening crack and stars fizzed before his eyes. With a cry, he clapped his hands to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut, willing the pain to stop.

'GREAT SCOTT!' he heard Doc shout, and almost instantly afterwards, was jolted forward again as the car ploughed into the ground with all the force of a double-decker bus. There was a screeching noise, a shattering noise, and then the engine died, leaving behind complete silence.

After several seconds, Marty very slightly parted his fingers so he could peer at Doc. The inventor was staring forwards. He was very still.

Sudden terror surged through Marty; Doc was so motionless he wondered if he were dead. He grabbed Doc's arm, forgetting his own pain. 'Doc,' he said sharply. 'Are you OK?'

To his immense relief Doc blinked and gave his head a little shake. 'I'm fine.' He looked more closely at Marty. 'Are you hurt?'

Marty winced as he was reminded of the throbbing pain in his forehead. He was going to have one hell of a bruise there in the morning. 'Not really,' he lied. 'What about the DeLorean?'

It was Doc's turn to grimace. 'Perhaps the damage isn't as bad as it sounded,' he said, but his voice was dark. He tried to start the car.

Nothing happened.

Marty let his head fall back against the seat. 'Perfect,' he groaned. The pain in his forehead felt about ten times worse.

Doc said nothing, but thrust open the gullwing door and climbed out to inspect the damage. Marty shut his eyes and wished that Doc hadn't persuaded him to come along. He thought of Jules and Verne, who would be waiting for him to return, and felt guilty, and a little angry with Doc.

After a few minutes, he realised that Doc was still outside and hadn't said a word. He frowned and sat up. 'Doc?' he called.

'Great…Scott…' he heard his friend say again, but this time his voice was different: so soft it was almost a whisper, shocked and horrified.

'Oh, God,' muttered Marty. The damage to the DeLorean must be _really _bad… 'Doc,' he repeated, getting out of the car. 'What – '

The rest of the words died on his lips as he took in the sight before him.

Hill Valley was gone. Whereas when they'd left they had been on a gently sloping hill above the town, the lights twinkling below them, there was now…nothing. Complete blackness.

'Jesus Christ,' Marty said. 'Doc! What's happened? Where's Hill Valley? Where…' He swallowed. 'This is gotta be the wrong year, Doc. Or the wrong place, or something.'

Doc shook his head. 'No,' he said, still staring at the empty void where Hill Valley used to be. 'I have the feeling this is the right place and time – but we've created an alternate reality, Marty.'

'Alternate reality?' Marty said. 'Wait – you mean like with the almanac?'

Doc nodded. Marty could barely see him in the blackness. 'I'm afraid so. I think our little appearance in Ireland has had a profound effect on time.'

'But how, Doc?' Marty asked helplessly. 'How the hell could we have changed things so badly?'

Doc went back to the car, and returned a moment later with a flashlight in his hand. Its narrow yellow beam swept over the ground, and Marty realised something else.

'Hey, Doc,' he said. 'Look at the road. It's changed.'

The tarmac road that had brought them out to the countryside was gone, replaced by a narrow dirt track. Doc looked closely. 'I think you'll find that a lot of things will have changed in this world.'

Marty glanced at where his hometown should be, and rolled his eyes. 'That's for sure.' He scuffed his Nikes against the rough path. 'Why's there even a road here, when no one's living around?'

Doc, who had been shining the flashlight over the DeLorean to fully inspect the damage, came over. 'That's not quite true,' he said. He flicked the flashlight off, leaving them in blackness once more. 'Look down at where Hill Valley should be – you can see several lights.'

It was true. Here and there in the blackness were several orange lights shining below, maybe about ten. Some were so distant they were barely visible.

For some reason, the sight of the tiny orange lights dotting the landscape below set shivers running down Marty's spine. 'What d'you think they are?' he said to Doc. 'They don't look like house lights.'

'We won't know until we see them,' said Doc.

'Doc! We're not going down there!'

'Do you have a better idea, Marty? The DeLorean needs repairs – only minor ones to ensure we get home safely – '

'Get home safely? Doc, according to you we _are _home.'

He heard Doc sigh. 'Very well then, repairs to ensure we can return to Ireland and stop our other selves from interfering with history – '

'But we don't even know how we're gonna do that.'

'Nevertheless.' This time Doc's tone allowed no argument. 'Besides, do you propose that we spend the night up here?'

Marty glanced down at the little orange dots of light, and felt the same chill of foreboding. 'OK,' he said finally, with more than a little reluctance. 'Let's check it out.'

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Half an hour later later, after they had pushed the DeLorean far into the side of the road and locked it, Doc and Marty were approaching the first of the orange lights. They had walked along the road in silence and in the darkness; as the light up ahead guided them, Doc had turned the flashlight off to preserve the battery.

'It _could_ be a house,' said Marty from beside him. 'Want me to go ahead?'

'I don't think – ' began Doc, but the teenager was already running forwards. After several seconds the sound of his feet on the soft dirt road had faded away, leaving the night as quiet as ever.

The silence that pervaded the countryside was almost eerie. Doc was a man of science, but he couldn't help but feel on edge. What kind of world had they created?

'DOC! DOC!'

Marty's yell cut through the silence like a knife, almost frightening Doc out of his skin. His friend's voice was raw with terror. 'Marty,' he gasped, fumbling for the switch on the flashlight even as was sprinting up the track. He swung the beam of the flashlight up; his hand was shaking so much the beam wavered and jerked before he swung it up to shine on his friend's face.

He slowed and took a deep breath, seeing that his friend was unharmed, although his eyes were wide and his face white. He looked shaken to the core.

'What is it, Marty?' said Doc, hurrying the last few steps. He realised that there was no need for the flashlight anymore; there was a dim orange glow around the space they were standing. Slowly, he lowered the flashlight and turned to see the source of the light.

It was a large jack-o'-lantern sitting at the side of the road, crudely carved with triangles for eyes and a nose, and a jagged mouth, all of which were glowing from the candle that flickered from inside. The strange sight made the hairs stand up on the back of Doc's neck, but this was nothing to the feeling of sickening dread he experienced as his eyes moved to the grey headstone that stood behind the pumpkin. The orange glow was flickering on the words carved into it.

_Martin Seamus McFly_

_1968 – 1985_

_Stabbed to death on this spot _

_May the Dead have mercy_

_On his soul_

'Great Scott,' he whispered, the words burning before him.

'What does it mean, Doc?' said Marty from behind him. His voice was weak. 'Why – why am I dead?'

Doc opened his mouth to answer, but to his surprise found he could not speak: his chest felt tight, constricted, and his eyes were hot.

'Doc?'

Doc closed his eyes briefly to regain his composure, and turned to his friend. Marty looked like he felt, though worse. Two points of orange light danced in his wide, shocked eyes as he looked up at the scientist.

Once again, Doc started to reply but was halted – this time by something striking him across the head. He fell to the ground at once, the breath knocked out of him. There was a large weight on his back, pressing him down. When he struggled there was a sharp kick to his already sore head.

Squinting up, he saw Marty being knocked to the ground also, by several people, who were no more than dark figures in the dim orange glow. He saw Marty being pulled up by the hair, glimpsed the flash of the blade of a knife –

'No,' he tried to cry, but choked on the dirt in front of his face; then he was abruptly flipped onto his back and saw another knife above him; it seemed to descend towards him in slow motion…

Then it halted as several gunshots suddenly cracked through the air; the knife disappeared; there was a scuffling sound all around him, footsteps, shouts…then silence. Doc could only lie completely still on the ground. _Shot! I've been shot!_

But no – if he had been shot, surely it would hurt more? _Oh no! Marty's the one who's been shot!_

He scrambled to his feet in a panic, but Marty had pushed himself onto his elbows, looking dazed but unhurt. 'You OK, Doc?' he said, getting up.

Before Doc could answer, a voice came out of the shadows. 'Are you hurt? What are you doing out tonight of all nights anyway?'

It was a voice that sounded very, very familiar. In fact…

A tall figure stepped into the circle of orange light – a man wearing a long coat and holding a shotgun…as his face became illuminated, Doc felt himself grow weak.

However, the stranger's eyes were fixed on Marty's face. His eyes boggled and his mouth dropped open. 'Marty…' he gasped in a choked voice.

Marty was staring back, in almost as much astonishment. 'Doc?' he said tentatively, taking a step forward; but before he could reach him, the alternate Doctor Emmett Brown fell backwards in a faint.

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'If he was like that when he saw _me_, Doc, what's he gonna be like when he sees _you_?'

Doc didn't have the breath to answer just then; he was staggering under the weight of his unconscious counterpart. After the initial shock had worn off, he had tried to revive the Other Emmett, but Marty had looked distinctly uneasy hanging around the headstone with his name engraved into it, and had finally broken and pleaded with Doc to get the hell out of there. Doc had been feeling uncomfortable himself, and had agreed, even if it meant having to carry his counterpart to somewhere they didn't even know where they were going. Marty was walking just ahead of him, carrying the flashlight and Emmett's shotgun.

'His reaction's understandable, of course,' he managed to grunt, shifting Emmett's weight on his shoulder. 'The you of this world is dead – '

'Yeah,' said Marty, a little too quickly. He suddenly jerked the flashlight's beam upwards. 'Check it out, Doc!'

They had come to a house at the side of the road – the beam of light showed a low, small stone cottage; another of the eerily glowing jack-o'-lanterns sat on the front doorstep. The windows were all dark.

'There's no one in,' said Doc.

Marty grinned for the first time since they'd arrived. 'No, 'cause he's with us.' He pointed to a small brass nameplate set beside the door. It read: _Doctor Emmett L. Brown, Spiritualist. _'It's your house.'

'_His _house,' Doc reminded him. He peered more closely at the nameplate. ' "Spiritualist"? What in the name of Sir Isaac H. Newton – ' He stopped himself. 'All right, we'll worry about that later. Let's just get inside.'

Marty stepped up to the heavy oak door and pushed. He frowned, and pushed again. 'It's locked,' he said. 'Does he have a key?'

Doc lowered Emmett to the ground and began to search his heavy overcoat's pockets. 'Got it,' he said, pulling out a heavy key. Marty took it and slotted it into the lock; the door swung open to reveal a small hall with floorboards and beams of dark wood. Yet another jack-o'-lantern sat grinning on the floor, wicked eyes and mouth glowing orange,

'I'm getting sick of those things,' muttered Marty. He pushed open a side door to reveal a small kitchen-cum-sitting room, also done in the same dark wood. There was no electrical lighting; many candles illuminated the room. The reason why the windows were dark became clear: all were blacked out with dark material.

Doc stumbled over to a red velvet settee and dumped his limp counterpart onto it, not bothering to be gentle. He groaned in relief and rubbed his sore shoulder.

Marty was looking around the room. 'This is really weird, Doc,' he remarked. 'It's like…I dunno, really Gothic?' He went to the side of the room to examine a wooden beam. 'Look at these carvings.'

Doc went to his side and ran a finger over the elaborate designs etched into the dark wood. Most were Halloween related, such as the jack-o'-lanterns, bats, black cats; other images were more sinister, like the abstract, haunting face of what looked like the Grim Reaper.

Marty picked at an etching of a scythe, frowning. 'I don't get it. I mean, I know it's Halloween, but this – Jesus, this is like it's Halloween all year round!' He turned to Doc, running a hand through his hair. 'Look, Doc, are you sure that we caused this? How could some Irish people seeing us in 1800 make this happen?'

Doc bit his lip, unsure how to answer. The strange little carvings in the wood seemed to come alive in the flicker of all the candles, dancing before him. 'I'm not quite sure – ' he began, but was interrupted by a faint moan from the settee.

Doc and Marty's eyes met. The teenager looked alarmed. 'I can't let him see me again,' he hissed. 'He thinks I'm – that I'm dead! He'll freak out again.'

'But we certainly can't let him see _me_,' Doc returned in an equally low voice. 'Whereas he's already seen you, so the shock won't be as great.'

'He probably thought it was a dream or something!'

There was a louder groan. Then, 'Oh, my head…'

Doc widened his eyes meaningfully at Marty, who shook his head violently. Doc grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him over towards the settee. Marty cast him an anxious look before sighing reluctantly and stepping tentatively over to where Emmett lay on the couch.

'Er…Doc?'

Emmett's eyes snapped open and fixed themselves on Marty's face. For several seconds they simply stared at each other; then Emmett's face crumpled and tears welled in his eyes as he pushed himself into a sitting position. Marty remained frozen where he was.

'Marty,' said Emmett. 'Oh, Marty – I always knew I'd see you again…'

'No, Doc,' said Marty hastily, taking a step backwards and holding his hands put in front of him. 'I'm not the Marty you know. I'm a different Marty. I'm from – uh – I guess you could say another world?' He glanced at Doc again, who nodded. 'Yeah, from another world – '

Emmett didn't seem to be taking in a word of what he was saying; he was staring at him with an almost rapturous expression on his face.

'I knew you would come back, Marty. I've seen other dead people, and they speak to me. I never saw you, but sometimes I hear your voice. So I knew you would come back. Every day people ask me if I've seen you, and finally, finally I'll be able to tell them you have returned – '

'No, Doc!' Marty shouted, sounding both fearful and impatient. Doc couldn't blame him; if this alternate Emmett wasn't completely mad, he was definitely walking a thin line. Then again, who knew what was what in this new world? 'I said I'm not the Marty you know. That Marty is – dead. He's dead. I'm not a ghost, or whatever you think I am. I'm from a different world.'

Emmett was quite still, watching him with wide eyes. 'What can this mean?' he said softly, almost to himself. 'I'm afraid I don't quite understand.'

Doc stepped forward, and Emmett's eyes jerked up towards his face.

'Maybe I could explain,' Doc said.

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'I always did wonder was time-travel possible,' Emmett was saying. He was now sitting in an armchair in front of Doc and Marty, who were side by side on the settee. When he had seen Doc come forward, he had become very still – it seemed to be a normal shock reaction with him, apart from the first time he saw Marty – and Doc had very quickly explained everything to him. Emmett had remained motionless for several more minutes, then got up, went to a cupboard and poured himself something very strong smelling; after gulping it down he stoked up the fire, which was now blazing in an ornately carved fireplace. Marty was surprised at how well he took the shock, considering, and how easily he accepted their story.

'I thought about it all the time. There was nothing I wanted more than to meet some of the great Spiritualists – '

'The what?' Marty said.

'Spiritualists. You can't mean to say that you don't have them in your world!'

'Our world is very different from yours,' said Doc calmly. 'Let's just assume that we don't know anything about this world.'

Emmett threw him a sceptical look, but continued. 'Very well. So then, the idea of travelling through time always particularly fascinated me. That was all to change after my mother's death.'

His eyes took on a faraway look, and he seemed to be looking past them as he spoke. 'It was Samhain when I first saw her.'

'And Samhain is…?' said Marty.

Once again, Emmett looked at him with disbelief. Marty sighed and quickly said, 'Yeah, we don't know what it is. So what is it?'

'It's October 31st,' Emmett said simply. 'The night when the barrier between the mortal world and the physical world is weakest.'

'It's October 31st today!' Marty exclaimed. 'Only we call it Halloween…' He glanced at the carvings and the jack-o'-lantern, visible through the open hall door. Things were beginning to connect, although _how _it was far from clear.

'Samhain,' said Doc thoughtfully. 'It's the old Celtic pagan festival from which Halloween came from, if I recall; and yes, it was on this date. And like Halloween, it had something to do with the dead.'

Emmett was frowning at them. 'Of course,' he said. 'Anyway, on that night, I was fifteen years old. I saw my mother, her ghost. She was speaking to me, but I couldn't hear the words. When my father died, I saw him too on the next Samhain after his death. Over time, I began to see them all the time, not just every Samhain; I came to hear them as well. I saw other ghosts, watching me. I realised my vocation in life: I became a Spiritualist.' Noticing Marty and Doc's puzzled looks, he sighed and went on, 'Simply put, people come to me and ask me what the ghosts around them are telling them. Usually relatives, or old close friends are the people I see around them. You could say I act as a medium between this world and the next. Very few people have this gift, you know.' Emmett lifted his chin proudly.

Marty met Doc's eyes, and saw there what he thought himself: _He's insane. _

'And do these people pay you?' Doc asked mildly.

Emmett blinked at him in surprise. 'Of course. You can hardly expect me to offer my services for free?'

Doc sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. 'Tell me,' he said. 'How did this…well, I suppose you would call it a religion…when did it start?'

'You said it yourself – it was a Celtic pagan festival – '

'No, no – tell me…when…' Doc paused thoughtfully. 'When did it come to America?'

'Ah! You mean when did it begin to spread to other countries from Ireland. According to the records, it began exactly in the year 1800, on the date of the Samhain festival – October 31st.'

At these words, Marty sat up straight in his seat and looked excitedly at Doc. The scientist acknowledged him with a flick of his eyes, but otherwise remained as calm as ever.

'On that evening,' Emmett continued, 'the locals of the town of Ballybowhill in Ireland were alerted by a brilliant flash of light in the sky and a loud noise. They went into the woods to investigate, and were there met with a very strange sight.'

He paused.

'What was it?' Marty asked, though he already knew the answer.

The answer, however, wasn't quite what he was expecting.

'Coincidentally, it was the son of the family _McFly_,' said Emmett, smiling. 'Interesting, no? Maybe you're related!'

'Yeah, maybe,' muttered Marty, not daring to look at Doc. _Shit._

'But the thing was, this son had died of a fever several months before. And here he was, standing before them, alive and well! They all knew of the old pagan festival, Samhain, the festival of the Dead – now they believed. Almost all of these people, and their children, went on to spread the word; today, it is one of the most widely spread religions in the world.' Emmett leant back in his chair, and surveyed them through half-closed eyes.

Marty's heart was pounding as he imagined most of the world in this state. And it was all his fault. Doc had been right about not interfering with ancestors. Though at least they knew for sure now that they had been the cause of this.

But there was something else that was nagging him.

'And what about me?' Marty cut in. He was intensely curious to find out how he had met the Doc of this world. Had he really hung out with this lunatic? 'I mean, the other me. How did we – you meet?'

'You came to me to ask if there was any message from your family,' Emmett said.

'My family?' Marty suddenly felt sick. 'They're dead?'

'They all died a few years ago; someone broke into the house and shot them all,' said Emmett. His voice was dispassionate. 'Marty was absent at the time, and so survived. He lived on his own for several months, but in the end I believe he became so desperately lonely he came to me to ask if there was any message from his family.' A sad smile came to Emmett's lips. 'I saw his family, standing around him. I gave him messages, but I'm not sure he ever really believed me. He was always sceptical. But for some reason, he came round here more and more, just…_talking_ to me.' The corners of his mouth twitched.

'Marty,' said Doc quietly. 'I'm not sure you should – '

'I found him,' whispered Emmett, ignoring Doc. 'It was early morning. Late the night before, he had left my house. I was walking along the lane, when I saw – I saw the body ahead.'

His voice cracked a little. The blood was pounding in Marty's ears; he wanted to plead with Emmett to stop, but found himself unable to.

'I'd found bodies along the road before. The bandits lurk there at night, waiting for any passers-by…then they kill them. So I didn't think it was him, but I realised it – as soon…as soon as I reached him…' Emmett was blinking furiously. 'He'd been stabbed to death, and left there. There was no one left to care for his body. I buried him at the side of the road where I'd found him; I erected a tombstone. Every week I light a new jack-o'-lantern before his grave to ward off evil spirits – you may have seen the lights of other graves – and every day I visit it to make sure the candle is lit.'

He slowly raised his eyes to Marty's, and the teenager felt a chill for no discernable reason.

'His death was a year ago today,' Emmett said softly. 'That was why I was out tonight – the one day in the year when this world on the next are most in touch. I was hoping I might see him – for the first time. Just once.'

Very slowly, he got up, crossed the room and bent down to lightly touch Marty's cheek. Marty flinched, but remained frozen where he was.

'And I did,' Emmett whispered, his eyes never leaving Marty's face.

To Marty's relief, Doc cut in just then. 'You did _not _see him, ghost or otherwise,' he said firmly. 'This is a different Marty. He's from a different world. You have never known him.'

Emmett lowered his chin slightly in consent, but his eyes slid back to Marty; and there was an expression in them that Marty definitely did not like.

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'Marty, why in the name of Sir Isaac H. Newton did you bring us to a place your ancestors were from?' Doc exploded, the minute Emmett had bid them goodnight and left the room. 'And don't try to deny it – there's no other reason why you should have chosen that place, of all places.'

'Calm down, Doc,' said Marty, annoyed. He was tired, on edge and he wanted to go home – and he was angry with himself; he knew Doc was right, that he was to blame for all this. 'I'm sorry, OK? I just didn't think.'

'That's always been a problem with you – you never pause to think of the consequences!'

'_OK_, Doc!' snapped Marty, more harshly than he'd intended. He was more upset than he was letting on about what had happened to him in this world – every time he closed his eyes he saw again the orange light flickering on the words that proclaimed his death, and he imagined his body lying bleeding in the grey morning light, his corpse rotting in the ground…

Perhaps Doc saw some of this in his face; he said, more gently, 'All right, Marty. You didn't mean for this to happen. Just please, _please _think of the consequences next time. Now, we'd best get some sleep; there's a long day ahead of his tomorrow, what with the DeLorean repairs. But it probably won't take long, just a day.'

'That's one day too many, if you ask me.' Marty yawned and rubbed a hand across his eyes. He suddenly felt exhausted. 'Do you want the settee?'

'No, I'm too tall for it – you can sleep there. I'll just lie down here.' Doc seized a couple of cushions from the armchair and tossed them onto the rug in front of the embers of the fire.

Marty lay down and closed his eyes as Doc went about the room blowing out the candles. His last thought before he fell into sleep was the desperate wish that this were all just a crazy dream.

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'Don't you think it's weird, Doc?'

'_What's _weird, Marty?' Doc sounded a little impatient. He was bent over the bonnet of the car, fiddling with wires and things. Marty wasn't helping him a lot, which was probably a good thing; he might mess it up even more. Currently he was leaning against the DeLorean, watching Doc work. Early that morning they had gone to fetch the time machine; thankfully, it had remained untouched. Emmett, who had accompanied them with the shotgun, as the bandits who had attacked them last night might still be around, was much fascinated with the car and had inspected every inch of it. Yet another thing that was revealed about this world – there were no cars.

It had been a slow process, slowly rolling the DeLorean down the twisting and winding lane; what was worse, they had had to pass "Marty's" grave twice. On the way to the DeLorean Marty had avoided it by putting both Doc and Emmett between the headstone and him; on the way back down, with he at the steering wheel and the two Docs pushing the car, he had kept his eyes fixed firmly on the lane ahead.

Now the DeLorean was safely parked behind Emmett's tiny cottage, and Marty was surveying the landscape. It was quite a shock to see everywhere so bare and desolate: here and there, in the distance, he could see several houses dotting the countryside, but there was nothing to suggest Hill Valley.

'I meant that it's weird Hill Valley doesn't exist – but we still live here, don't we? Why's that? How did we even come to live here when – well, there's nothing here?'

'I suppose it's one of the mysteries of time – or maybe not time, in this case,' grunted Doc, peering closely at a connection. 'There could be many theories. Perhaps there is one fundamental rule from which all alternate universes are drawn – and it could be that in the majority of alternate worlds, you and I both live in this area. Obviously, this isn't always going to be the case.' He reached for the toolkit that he kept in the DeLorean, and which now lay propped open beside him. 'Of course, it could simply be an amazing coincidence.'

'Right,' Marty said sceptically. He'd heard this before. 'Only in this world I'm six feet under and you're a religious nutjob.'

Doc straightened up and frowned over at him. 'I think you're being a little hard on him, Marty.'

'Doc, there is something seriously wrong with this guy! He thinks he can see ghosts! He thinks they talk to him. Don't tell me there's nothing wrong with _that_.'

'Keep your voice down!' Doc hissed, casting an anxious glance towards the house, although there was no way they could have been heard from inside – there were no windows and no door at the back of the cottage. 'We don't want to offend our host – he is proving very hospitable towards us – '

'Our host? Doc, he's you!' Marty said wryly, but Doc was not amused in the slightest.

'He is _not _me. You seem to have some trouble understanding this concept – as does indeed my counterpart. This is an alternate reality that shouldn't even exist, with people who may _look _like us, but in fact are quite different. Keep that in mind, Marty. Be careful. Just because the Emmett Brown of this world looks like me, that's no reason to assume we are the same character underneath.'

'So are you saying…that we shouldn't trust him?' Marty said uncertainly.

Doc paused, a screwdriver in his hand. He looked at Marty and for a moment it seemed as if he would say something more; then he sighed and shook his head, bending over the DeLorean once more. 'I'm just saying to be careful.'

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After a while, Marty complained of being hungry; Doc realised that they hadn't had anything to eat that day, and sent him inside to ask Emmett if there was anything to eat. Emmett wasn't inside the small main room; Marty found him standing outside the front door, surveying the desolate landscape.

He jumped a step backwards when he saw Marty.

'Oh, I'm sorry, Marty,' he said, calming down. 'For a moment there I thought…' He looked back at the lane that twisted by the house. 'I don't think anyone shall be coming today.'

Marty looked at the bare countryside. 'You…uh…get a lot of, um, clients, then?' he said.

'Yes, many,' Emmett said cheerfully. 'They come from miles and miles around – even hundreds of miles, if you'll believe it! My reputation has spread quite well.'

He clasped his hands behind his back and said, in more mournful tones, 'Another Samhain has passed and Marty has not come back to me.' He turned to Marty. '_You_ came, though. Perhaps it is a sign.'

'Well, I'm not him…' Marty said uncomfortably.

'But it's a quite a coincidence, isn't it? That you should turn up last night, which as well as being the Night of the Dead is the anniversary of your death – '

'_His _death!' Marty said sharply.

'Yes, his death – and that you should also turn up beside his grave…' Emmett paused. In a quieter voice he said, 'You're very like him, you know. When I speak to you, it feels like it used to be. I have to keep reminding myself that it's not. What am I going to do when you have left? Am I to continue this torturous, lonely existence? Sometimes I don't think I can bear it without you, without a friend.'

Marty fervently wished that he were somewhere, anywhere right now other than here. 'Well, I don't know if this world will even exist once we set things right…'

Emmett didn't appear to be listening to him. 'Come with me,' he said suddenly, taking Marty's arm. 'I want to show you something.' Before the teenager could protest he had led him back into the house, into the tiny hall where the jack-o'-lantern still sat grinning – but this time he opened the door on the left.

It was Emmett's bedroom, done in the same dark wood with the eerie little carvings, and the bed was made up with dark red velvet. Emmett brought Marty over to a long table beside the wall. Many lit candles flickered on it.

Curious, Marty stepped forward to inspect it. There were several framed photographs lined up on the table, one or two candles lit in front of each. The first two were black and white, of a man and a woman who Marty didn't recognise, although they looked vaguely familiar. He didn't recognise any of the people in the next few pictures either…then his eyes moved to the very last photograph, around which were the most candles, and his heart gave an unpleasant jolt.

It was his own face grinning out at him from the photograph. Feeling slightly sick, Marty studied the picture carefully. _He's me, _he thought. Then: _No, he's not me, though for all I know he could be exactly like me. But he's dead. He was stabbed to death._

'Every one of the dead people you see in each of these pictures has come back to me,' Emmett said softly from behind him. 'They have all returned, and spoken to me. I can feel their presence in this room right now. Marty has never come back. I pray for it every day, but I have not seen him. Why won't he come back?'

Marty turned to look at Emmett, and it was the face of his old friend that looked back at him.

Then he looked into Emmett's eyes. They weren't _his_ Doc's eyes – there was something else in them: a deep, deep sorrow, and a look of someone who has seen terrible things…

And something else. Something flickering just below the surface, but there nevertheless.

Madness. And an odd sort of hunger…

Marty shivered as he quickly lowered his eyes, muttered an excuse and headed for the door, longing to see both Doc and the DeLorean, the two anchors to his own world. In his opinion they couldn't get out of this one fast enough.

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'Well, the repairs on the DeLorean are finished!' announced Doc, coming into the kitchen. Outside, a strong wind was picking up, and Doc's hair was even messier than usual. Emmett was preparing a strange smelling dinner, and Marty was slumped in the armchair, moodily flicking through a musty leather-bound book written in old-fashioned language and with creepy illustrations. At Doc's words, however, he brightened up immediately and leapt to his feet, the book toppling to the ground with a heavy thud.

'Finished?' he said eagerly. 'So we can go home now?' Out of the corner of his eye he could see Emmett watching him.

Doc looked doubtful as he shrugged off his overcoat and hung it on a small peg beside the door. 'Well, not straight home, of course – we have to figure out how to stop ourselves from creating this mess in the first place in 1800. And I'm not entirely sure about leaving tonight – there's a storm gathering…'

'_Doc!_' Marty said in disbelief. He couldn't bear to think of spending another night in this windowless house, with only candles and firelight penetrating the gloom – and his mind was fixed on the picture of his alternate self only in the next room. 'Look, no offence,' he added, turning to Emmett, 'but I really want to go home, y'know?'

'Oh, I quite understand,' Emmett said. There was a curious expression on his face.

Doc rubbed his forehead. 'I suppose we _could _leave now, before the storm gets any worse…though we wouldn't be able to stay for dinner,' he said apologetically, although he didn't look very sorry. Marty didn't blame him; the earlier lunch had tasted plain _weird_, like nothing out of their own world. Dinner didn't smell like it was going to be any different.

'Of course,' Emmett agreed quietly.

'Well then,' said Doc, rubbing his hands together. 'We should leave immediately.' He looked at Emmett. 'Thank you for your kindness and hospitality. We're most grateful, and terribly sorry to have bothered you like this.'

'Not at all.' Emmett smiled, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. 'It's been my pleasure. Before you go, though, I'd like to give Marty something in private.'

Doc looked a little nonplussed. 'Oh. OK, I'll just go – and bring the DeLorean round to the front of the house.' He grabbed his coat from the peg again, and left the room.

Marty stuck his hands in his pockets and pointedly raised his eyebrows at Emmett. He didn't appreciate the delay, and was wondering uneasily what Emmett wanted to give him.

Emmett only chuckled. 'All right, all right. You're just like my Marty…exactly the same.'

'Yeah,' Marty said tersely. 'So…what d'you want to give me?'

Emmett stepped forward; and quick as a flash, before Marty could react at all, he had lunged towards him and wrapped an arm tightly around his neck. Marty choked at once.

'What're you doing?' he gasped, desperately trying to pry Emmett's arm away.

Through watering eyes he saw Emmett slowly draw a pistol from his pocket.

'Do you know how lonely I am, Marty McFly?' Emmett said in dreamy tones, though his grip on Marty remained as tight as ever. The teenager's fingers scrabbled uselessly at his arm. 'Day in, day out, with no one to speak to but people who have no more interest in me other than my ability to speak with their departed ones. I missed you, Marty, so badly. You never came back to me.' Outside, Marty heard the rumble of the DeLorean's engine. 'I contemplated suicide. I believe I was on the verge of it until you appeared. You _did_ come back to me, Marty. You _did_ return. Not just as a ghost, but something a thousand times better – as real and solid a human as you ever were.'

He put his lips to Marty's ear and his skin crawled as Emmett whispered, 'You will stay here, and you will become everything to me that my Marty was.'

'You're sick,' Marty managed to say, feeling the rage begin to course. 'You're sick, you twisted p – '

He heard the front door slam, and he froze.

Emmett aimed the gun at the door.

Doc walked in, looking even more windswept. 'Well, everything's set and – Great Scott.'

There was silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the grate and the howling of the wind outside.

'I think you should leave, Doctor Brown,' Emmett said quietly.

Doc didn't move. 'Let Marty go,' he said slowly.

'Out of the question.' The gun was trembling very slightly in his grip. 'Leave, before I shoot you.'

Doc's eyes shot to Marty's, and they held each other's gaze for several seconds.

'Marty is staying here, Doctor,' Emmett said. 'Whether you are alive or dead, it doesn't matter to me. Don't think I'll hesitate to shoot you. I've killed before. I hunted down those bastards who murdered Marty, and shot their brains out. So. It's up to you.'

'I'll go,' Doc said, after a moment. Marty stiffened, and he would have shouted out if he'd had the breath. 'But the keys to the DeLorean – Marty has them in his pocket.'

Marty blinked. He didn't have the keys – Doc did. How else would he have started the car?

But Emmett had no experience of cars, and wouldn't know that…

Doc intended to do something. Right. Fine. _Please God, don't let this end with the two of us shot dead._

'Marty?' said Emmett coolly, loosening his grip on Marty enough so he could speak.

'Um, yeah,' gasped Marty. His throat felt so tender it was agony to speak. 'Lemme just get 'em…'

He slowly reached into his pocket, stalling for time, while staring at Doc. Doc stared back, looking at Marty as though he were trying to tell him something…

It had to be growing painfully obvious to Emmett that they were up to something, and every second that Marty tried to figure out Doc's scheme was a second wasted. He had to do something – fast.

While his mind raced, he was still keeping up the pretence of feeling in his pocket for the keys – and his fingers brushed something smooth and round. Marty frowned for a minute, wondering what it was – then he remembered. It was his _Art in Revolution _badge; it had fallen off his denim jacket a few days ago and he had stuck it in his jeans pocket without thinking about it.

Yes! 

Without thinking about it, without pausing to work up the nerve, Marty whipped his hand out of his pocket and drove the sharp pin on the back of the badge into Emmett's leg.

Emmett howled in pain and wildly struck at his attacker at the same time as firing the gun. Marty ducked the blow at the same time as Doc dodged the bullet – which had been way off anyway. In the same movement Doc sprang forward, wrenched the gun from Emmett's fingers and struck him over the head with it, once, twice, three times.

Emmett collapsed to the ground and lay unmoving.

Doc didn't pause for breath; he placed the gun down on the table and was at Marty's side in an instant. He grabbed his friend by the arm. 'Marty, are you OK?'

'I'm fine,' Marty said hoarsely, massaging his bruised throat. He was uncomfortably reminded of when Buford Tannen had strung him up by the courthouse. Between this and the bruise on the forehead he had sustained yesterday he was surprised he was still alive. 'Or I'll live, anyway. Doc, did – did you kill him?'

Doc looked at Emmett's prone body in disgust. 'I don't think so, but I'm not even going to check. I can't believe I was capable of such – such…' The fury in his face was replaced by something more confused, more scared. 'I would have never thought that I could turn out like this.'

'But he's not you, Doc.' Marty sighed. 'Jesus, isn't that what you've been lecturing me about over the past few days?'

Doc smiled ruefully. 'Yes, I suppose it is.'

Marty bent down and picked the badge he had driven into Emmett's leg from where it lay on the floor. Grimacing, he wiped the dark blood from it with the hem of his jacket. 'So tell me, Doc. What exactly did you want me to do when you said I had the keys?'

The scientist shrugged. He looked a little sheepish. 'I don't know…to stamp on his foot?'

Marty groaned, with feeling. 'Then it's a good thing I had this on me, or we'd probably both be _dead_ by now.' Or Doc would be dead and Marty would be subjected to something worse than death; but he didn't voice this. He pushed the thought from his head and stuck his badge back into his pocket. 'Now let's get the hell outta here.'

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'Anything yet?' Doc called.

Marty peered through the trees. 'Nothing.' They were back in Ireland in 1800 – five minutes before their other selves arrived. Doc had come up with a plan to make sure the natives didn't see them: they simply entered 1800, circled over Ballybowhill to make sure they were noticed, then landed on the opposite side of the town from where they'd originally landed. This would hopefully ensure that the natives would come running to them, rather than their other selves, whose trip would now be inconsequential.

That was the plan. But so far there was no sign of the natives –

Wait. There was the familiar flicker of torchlight and Marty could hear the shouts.

He turned and dived back into the DeLorean. 'They're coming, let's go,' he said, pulling the door down. Doc nodded once and the time machine rose into the air. The locals would definitely notice that, but this time it would probably not inspire them to create a world over which the eternal shadow of Halloween would be hanging.

Marty looked down at the woods they were hovering over. Somewhere down there, in a few minutes, another Doc and Marty would be arriving, this time unnoticed because all of the locals would be on the other side of the town…and then they would leave, blissfully unaware of the dark world they had nearly created…

'Doc? There'll be a Doc and Marty down there in a few minutes and…well, they're gonna go home, aren't they? But they're not us. So where did they go?'

'Well, we've probably just created another alternate universe…'

Marty looked at him.

'I'll explain some other time,' Doc said, and hit the accelerator.

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'Where have you _been_? You were _ages_! At least half an hour!' Verne was waiting for them with crossed arms in the kitchen. He looked absolutely furious and about ready to burst into tears.

Marty smiled tiredly and reached out to ruffle Verne's hair. 'Sorry, kid.'

Verne pushed his hand away. 'You promised, Marty. Instead you went out with Dad in the time machine – '

'Emmett! Marty! Where on earth have you both been?' Clara came into the kitchen. 'Jules and Verne told me that you went – oh my goodness, Marty!' She reached out towards him, looking concerned. 'You've got a terrible bruise on your head – and on your throat – oh dear, they look terribly painful – ' She stopped, and slowly turned to her husband. 'Emmett.' Her voice had become steely. 'What happened?'

Doc slipped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. 'I'll explain later, Clara.'

She continued to look concerned. 'Well, Marty certainly doesn't look like he's fit to take the boys anywhere.'

Marty saw the looks of disappointment on Jules and Verne's faces, and quickly said, 'Nah, I'm OK to take them. They've been waiting ages for me. And at least I have a Halloween costume now – Victim of an Alternate Murderous Psychotic Doc.'

Clara's eyes widened.

'Thank you, Marty,' said Doc, through gritted teeth, narrowing his eyes at him. 'All right, off you go boys – only once up and down the street, OK? Marty's been through a rough time, and he doesn't want to go any further than that.'

Cheering, Jules and Verne ran out to the hall.

'Thanks, Marty,' Doc said. 'You're sure that you're up for this, now?

Marty grinned at him. 'Of course. I wouldn't want to miss Halloween, after all.'


End file.
